A Last Resort
by Rose7
Summary: He had tried kindness, firmness, finally the bluff of an ultimatum. Nothing had broken through that icy stare. Faced with that stare for eternity, Fenris had been forced to consider other options. Female Hawke/Fenris oneshot.


The journey to Ferelden was not a difficult one. They had crossed the sea from the Marches years ago, and had only recently headed back north to Amaranthine. From there, a steady stream of trade caravans were always willing to take a paying traveler into Redcliffe, the city proper, or anywhere else along their route.

No one seemed suspicious when the lone elf asked to disembark at the Circle Tower. Perhaps it was the markings. Being mistaken for a mage was yet another side effect Fenris had forgotten to thank his master for.

He waited until just before dawn, as instructed, when the fewest number of Templars would be on duty. The Fereldens had never been as militant as the Marchers when it came to mages, but they certainly hadn't eased up in the years since Kirkwall.

Breaching the tower proved no more difficult than reaching it. Once inside, it was merely a matter of following the map he'd been sent, until he found the right room.

The boy was waiting inside, clad in the same traveling clothes he'd been wearing when they'd brought him here. He looked fine. Undamaged. Unscarred. No more out of place here than the woman in mage's robes, sitting next to him.

When he saw Fenris, he opened his mouth to speak. Bethany Hawke clapped a hand over it.

"Go quickly," she told Fenris, pulling the boy to his feet, hand still covering his mouth. "If they catch you-"

"I understand." He looked at the boy and cocked his head back towards the open door. The boy hurried out.

There was silence at first. The boy stayed close, peering up at Fenris every now and then as if watching for something. For his part, Fenris kept his eyes forward- except to note that the boy's hair had grown longer. It now obscured the pointed tips of his ears.

After some time, however, the boy spoke. "Where are we going?"

"I am returning you to your mother."

"Why?"

"Because she is miserable without you."

More than miserable. She wasn't speaking to him. He had tried kindness, firmness, finally the bluff of an ultimatum. Nothing had broken through that icy stare, condemning and sentencing him without blinking an eye.

Faced with that stare for eternity, Fenris had been forced to consider other options.

"Miserable?" The boy also seemed to have a difficult time fathoming it. "Does she miss me?"

"I imagine that is the source of her distress."

Her father. Her brother. Her sister. Her mother. Even him, for a time. And now this. Fenris had heard the litany of lost names enough to admit how one might build upon the next.

But they had all been taken from her unwillingly. The boy belonged here. Even she had admitted that. And yet here Fenris was, undoing what he'd thought could not be undone.

"I wrote her," the boy added. "Did she write me?"

Hadn't they agreed that would be unwise? That a clean break would be best for the boy? Then again, how would he know, when the boy's mother had not so much as said 'good morning' to him in weeks?

"It is irrelevant," Fenris replied instead. "You will no longer need letters to communicate."

The boy was quiet for a moment. "Good."

They stopped at the end of the hall, the boy bumping up against his heels. The familiar clink of a templar's armor could be heard around the corner, louder and closer with every step.

Fenris lifted his sword, drawing the heavy steel up and over his shoulder, holding it there and remaining perfectly still. The toe of the templar's boot appeared. He swung. A helmeted head rolled across the floor before he even had a chance to scream.

Out of sheer habit more than anything else, he bent over the body, rifled through its pockets, and stepped away again.

"Keep up, now," he barked at the boy, who was still staring, slack-jawed, at the now headless templar.

"You killed him," he accused, as if Fenris hadn't felt the blade connect with the templar's flesh himself.

"He would have killed me," he replied, glancing around for any additional patrols.

The boy's green eyes were wide. "Won't you get in trouble? Won't the templars hunt you down?"

"The templars have better things to do."

Like guarding the mages, none of which had raised so much as an eyebrow at the sight of a lyrium-branded elf slaughtering his way through the Circle Tower. Perhaps Bethany had spread word of his intentions. Or perhaps Circle mages were like all others- simply waiting for their chance to see blood. Why was he here again?

"But we're running away," the boy was saying. "Isn't that what templars-"

"Silence," Fenris hissed, taking the boy's wrist and pulling him along the corridor.

By the time they'd reached the stairwell, some kind of alarm had been sounded. The pounding feet of running templars echoed off the ancient stone. Dust fell from the ceiling. The torches flickered against the wall. Bethany had promised to hold them as long as possible, but the half-lies of a mage from Kirkwall would not hold for long.

"Where is Mother?" the boy asked, at his heels once more. "Why didn't she come?"

"She does not know," Fenris answered. "Your return is...something of a surprise."

The boy digested this for a moment. "Will she be glad to see me?"

"That is my hope." Maker knew he had tried everything else.

"Are you glad?"

The boy's increasingly cheerful mood was both inexplicable and infuriating. Did he think this no different than being consigned to his room for a few months? Did he think it had all just been a short vacation, learning how to make fireballs with his Aunt Bethany?

"No, I am not," Fenris snapped, stopping in his tracks and turning to stare at the boy. "You belong here. The Templars would have kept you safe. The Circle would have trained you. Without them, you are a danger to yourself and everyone around you."

The boy blinked back at him. "Because I have magic?"

"Yes." Nightmares. Realizations. Arguments. It was not a pleasant memory.

"I have to face the Harrowing," the boy continued. "I have to prove I can resist the demons."

"Yes, you do."

"Then why are you-"

Fenris reached back and gripped the boy's shirt, yanking him close.

"You will be silent, Leto. I will not say it a third time."

The boy nodded. Raven-colored hair fell over his brow. "Yes, Father."

There was an entire patrol of Templars waiting at the bottom of the stairs. This time, the boy had no time to even register the blood splattered on his face before they were gone, fled into the woods and towards what remained of Lothering.

Perhaps all she needed was more time. The boy was only six, after all. Surely when he was older, she would understand. Surely then she would realize that this was for his own good.

Perhaps Fenris would light a few candles at the local chantry, just to make sure.


End file.
